


Author Unknown

by Kita_the_Spaz



Category: Naruto
Genre: Community: kakairu_fest, KakaIru Month 2015, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kita_the_Spaz/pseuds/Kita_the_Spaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Kink meme prompt: "While on his way home from a short mission, Iruka finds a small well worn journal on the outskirts of Konoha. At his apartment he flips through the journal to discover it is actually a manuscript for a romance novel written in a penmanship that is all too familiar."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Author Unknown

Iruka dropped onto the road with silent grace, raising only a small puff of dust from his landing. The trees he had left behind were filled with sounds of life; bird calls, the rustle of leaves, the voices of a thousand living things. In comparison, the empty road’s silence was unnerving.

Shaking his head to clear it, Iruka picked up his pace. He wasn’t far from the village now. With luck, he could make it in before the mission room closed and drop off the scroll he had taken from the more than half-mad monk, who in turn had stolen it from a missing nin. That had been just about all Iruka had been able to get out of him before he had devolved into mindless gibbering. But at least the missing nin wouldn’t be coming back for the scroll, because in his crazed maunderings, the monk had led him to the nin’s grave.

From what Iruka had managed to piece together from the monk’s mad ramblings, a trap on the scroll had been what had driven him insane, so Iruka would be more than glad to hand off the thing to the Mission desk, so they could pass it on to the Torture and Interrogation Division. As it was, he was handling it with more care than he’d use in holding an activated exploding tag.

So stumbling over a leather-bound book half-buried in the leaf-litter drifting across the road made him yelp and jump twice his body length into the air. Perched on an overhanging branch, Iruka cursed both his hair-trigger reflexes and whoever had lost the damned thing there. He was just glad he was far enough from the village gate that he hadn’t been seen being spooked by a forgotten book.

Calmly, he descended back down to the road, ignoring the shaky feeling in his knees. Kneeling, Iruka picked up the book and tucked it into his waist-pouch. He’d drop it in the lost and found box at the mission desk. Could be that someone out there was missing it.

Still cradling the scroll with exquisite care, Iruka picked up his pace. This week needed to be over with. Badly.

Almost three hours later found Iruka trudging wearily out of the T&I Division Headquarters. He’d been intercepted on his way to the mission room by an ANBU, who told him that his report was now to be made directly to Ibiki. Whatever was on that scroll was apparently far more important than he’d believed at the beginning of the mission. He hadn’t had that intent of a grilling since he’d first undergone mandatory interrogation resistance when he’d made chuunin.

Whatever; Iruka was just as glad that the scroll was out of his hands now. Tiredly, he stopped at Ichiraku to pick up take-out, too weary both mentally and physically to contemplate cooking. He made it home and locked the door behind him, activating the wards with an expenditure of chakra that felt like it was being pulled out of him. It was a damned good thing he had the next two days off to rest and recover. He hadn’t even realized how worn out he was.

After eating, he trudged down the hall to the bathroom, intending a quick shower and a nice long soak to work the aches out and help him settle down enough to sleep. Setting the water in the cedar-walled tub to heat, he began stripping, methodically removing his weapons and closing them in a special box designed to keep them safe from the moisture in the air and the rust it would cause. He pulled off his waist pouch with its supply of shuriken and senbon and realized that it was far heavier than it should be.

Iruka opened it and frowned a little at the leather-bound book inside. In the midst of the mess his day had turned out to be, he’d forgotten about the thing and his intention to drop it off at the Mission Desk’s lost and found box. He’d have to do it tomorrow, after he’d gotten as much sleep as humanly possible.

Shrugging, he dropped it in the box and slumped over to the shower. 

After a shower and a long soak in the tub, (He hadn’t nearly fallen asleep, really!) Iruka felt more closely related to human. Dressed in a soft cotton yukata that had seen far better days, he cleaned up after himself, dumping the damp towels and his filthy mission clothes in the washer, and carrying his box of weapons out into the living room. He dropped it carelessly on the low table beside the overstuffed armchair. He’d sharpen the blades and check for damage when he woke up, but right now all he wanted was a soothing cup of tea and bed.

He put the kettle on to boil and measured tea into the pot. When the kettle hissed, he poured the water into the pot and wandered over to his armchair with the teapot in one hand and a cup in the other. Sinking down into the cushioned embrace, he sighed tiredly and poured himself a cup.

Blowing across the surface of the tea to cool it, Iruka found his eyes straying to the box. Reaching over, he opened it and lifted out the book. Maybe it had an inscription or a bookplate in it, and he could actually return it directly to the owner instead of adding it to the pile of forgotten and lost things in the Mission Room.

He’d noticed the worn leather cover had no title, but had thought nothing of it. Many older editions had no titles on the leather binding, only on the dust jacket and interior pages. Others had titles that had been worn off by repeated handling, something this book had obviously had quite a lot of. But to his surprise it was a handwritten journal, filled with line after line of cramped handwriting. There was no name, and no dates to separate entries.

No. not a journal then... This was a story, painstakingly handwritten on the lined paper.

_‘Darkness stole across his vision and his breath stuttered to a halt in his chest. Despairing, Inu-kuro reached after that receding back, needing nothing more than the piece of his heart and soul that even now walked away from him, proud and unbending. While Inu-kuro felt as if he had been bent until he had snapped under the strain, aching and numb._

_‘It had all started as an argument, bitter words spoken in haste and regretted in the very next breath..._

_‘ “... understand, why you can’t see what I do? Making snap judgments and looking at everything but what’s right in front of you,” like the storm he was named after, Tsunami raged, dark eyes snapping fire over flushed cheeks. “Sometimes there is nothing behind the words spoken but the plain, unvarnished truth! But you’re too busy looking for hidden meanings and traps to even listen, much less understand!”_

_‘Tsunami turned, and to Inu-kuro, he had never been more breathtaking, all flushed cheeks and wind-snarled hair. Tsunami smiled, and held out a hand. “If I am indeed the storm, do you dare to brave it?” he laughed.’_

Taking a sip of his tea, Iruka was startled to find it ice-cold. He glanced up at the clock, to see it was only lacking an hour or so to dawn. He’d been so absorbed in the hand-written love story, he’d utterly forgotten his weariness. He’d read a lot of romances, including Jiraiya’s infamous works, and if he had to guess, the person who had written this had been pouring their heart and soul out onto the page with every word. It was gut-wrenching and at the same time, wonderful and impassioned.

Iruka really hoped the author had written more. Maybe been published; he’d love to read more of their work.

Iruka flipped back to the beginning of the book, looking for something to identify the author; a name, a chop stamp, hell— even a careless scribble— that could lead him to the person who had written this.

Nothing. Not a identifying mark of any kind. 

Iruka scowled at the book as if it had deliberately offended him, and in a way, it had. By not having some way of tracking down the author, the damned thing was outright mocking him.

Sighing, Iruka set the book down and padded into the kitchen to dump out the long-since gone cold tea. Rinsing the pot and cup, the dropped them on the drying rack and turned off the light. He’d think about it later, dammit. He really needed some sleep.

Navigating in the darkness with the ease of someone who had memorized where everything in the apartment was and how quickly he could reach a weapon, Iruka tumbled on his bed...

...And came up cursing at the crackle of paper and several hard lumps poking him in uncomfortable places. He flicked on the light and groaned. He’d utterly forgotten about the mess of scrolls and files he’d left strewn across his bed when he’d gotten the summons for the mission. Tsunade had dragooned him into helping update some files, since he had the necessary clearances, and he’d dragged the mess home with him to work on.

He’d rather unceremoniously dumped the whole lot on the bed when Anko had sailed in the window and shoved a mission scroll in his face. Sighing again, this time at his own stupidity, Iruka heaved himself up off the bed and began to gather the tumbled papers.

He shoved them all onto his nightstand, reminding himself of yet another thing he’d have to do tomorrow, whenever he actually dragged himself out of bed.

A paper fluttered out of one of the folder’s and Iruka bent to retrieve it. An old mission report, edges creased and starting to yellow with age. Iruka had absently set it atop the other papers, when something caught his eye.

He picked the page back up and squinted at it. There was a certain sort of stiltedness to the writing, an awkwardness in the way some letters were formed, like the writer had had only cared to learn just enough to fill out a mission report, and nothing past that point. He glanced up at the name of the shinobi who had filled out the report and found himself nodding. Hatake Kakashi. That made all kinds of sense; a child-shinobi who had barely been old enough to even attend the academy before he was graduated and thrown out into the field.

It had to have been how tired he was, because Iruka found himself regarding the mission report as he would a piece of homework from one of his students, almost instinctively taking note of misspelled words, shaky pen-strokes and an uncertain grasp on grammar. His weary mind found itself focusing on one single inconsistency, though. It wasn’t really even an error though, just an odd way of forming a certain letter, especially when in conjunction with another. He’d seen that before, in old documents written by the Fourth before his death. Hatake had apparently learned that from him.

Suddenly, it clicked. He’d seen that oddly written letter not ten minutes ago, when he was... reading the _damned_ book! Iruka scrambled to his feet, tiredness forgotten as he dashed back to the living room to retrieve the handwritten book. He carried it back to the bedroom and held it under the lamp, comparing it to the old mission report. The writing in the book was more fluid, but there and there, the same looped letter, and again near the end of the page!

Iruka blinked, feeling a little floored. The romance story he had just read (and _enjoyed_ ) had been written by none other than Hatake Kakashi, connoisseur of Jiraiya’s pornographic novels. The world had suddenly ceased to make sense.

Nodding to himself, Iruka set the book down. That was it. He’d fallen asleep while reading and dreamed this whole insane thing. It was just a dream. He turned off the light and settled himself down on the bed. In the morning, he’d laugh at his crazy dream, if he even remembered it. He willed himself to sleep, not even musing on the incongruency of falling asleep while he was already dreaming.

It was late afternoon when Iruka awoke, stretching muscles sore from a long mission followed by what had felt like an even longer interrogation. Scrubbing his hands over his face and wincing at the feel of stubble, Iruka sat up and indulged in a yawn and another, more leisurely, stretch. Despite everything, he felt fairly good. He must have caught up on his sleep.

It was right about then that his eyes fell on the leather-bound book resting atop the yellowed mission report and his brightened mood crashed and burned. His stomach took an express route to his feet and landed there with a thud.

The book he’d enjoyed so much last night had been written by the infamous copy-nin. The man of a thousand jutsu; the consummate warrior. The porn-obsessed individual who was more than happy to stroll through a schoolyard reading a luridly-illustrated manga adaptation of Icha Icha. Naruto’s teacher, and the bane of Iruka’s shifts in the mission room. The person who had invited Iruka out on multiple occasions for ramen and drinks to fondly reminisce on the boy they had both taught. The man Iruka had fought his rapidly-growing attraction to for nearly three years.

Iruka groaned low in his throat. Damn his luck. Not only had Kakashi attracted Iruka with his wit and wry sense of humor, now he’d seduced him with written words. When he wasn’t working, Iruka loved to read, devouring books with a voracious appetite. Now that he’d discovered that Kakashi could turn a phrase right up there with some of Iruka’s favorite authors...

Shaking his head, Iruka shoved the brief fantasy of Kakashi reading something of his own writings to him out of his mind. He _really_ didn’t need that image popping up the next time he spoke to Kakashi.

All through his morning ablutions, Iruka pondered what to do about the book and his new knowledge of Kakashi’s— hobby? His safest bet would be to drop it in the lost and found box at the Mission Desk, but if Kakashi asked who had found it... He could leave it outside Kakashi’s door, but Kakashi would definitely want to know who had done that, considering the distinct lack of marks of ownership. Iruka’s smell would be all over the book, and Kakashi had eight very good trackers.

He could always man up and give the book to Kakashi the next time he saw him, but that was sure to raise more questions than he wanted to answer.

Or, safest of all, keep the book and disclaim any knowledge of it, were Kakashi to mention it. Unlikely, considering how private a person Kakashi was. Besides, he had no idea Iruka had it. Iruka liked that option best of all. Besides, it would give him a chance to re-read the book.

Having made up his mind, Iruka dressed and strolled out to the living room, book in hand. Kakashi came over to his place often enough that he couldn’t leave it out in plain sight, but he wasn’t going to go to extraordinary lengths to hide it, considering Kakashi’s penchant for poking and prying. He’d bury it on his overstuffed bookshelves, where it would be just another book amid the piles, unlikely to draw attention.

That was the plan anyway.

A plan that was disrupted by Kakashi’s appearance, perched on the windowsill like the world's oddest bird. “Mah, Iruka-sensei, I heard you were— _back?_ ” His voice trailed off, his one steel-gray eye fastened to the book in Iruka’s hand.

Iruka’s first, instinctive reaction was to hide the book behind his back, but he quashed it hard and forced a smile he hoped didn’t look _too_ fake. “Ah, hello, Kakashi-san. Yes, I just got back in yesterday. I’m afraid I only recently woke up. Guess I was exhausted.”

Kakashi’s eye flickered up to meet his and curved upwards with a smile. “Meh, I heard your mission rank got upgraded after the fact, so I wouldn’t doubt it. Reporting to Ibiki would wear anyone out.” His gaze darted down to the book again. “So, sensei, found some new reading material on your mission?”

Iruka shook his head. “Ah, this? I found it on my way home. Was going to drop it off at the lost and found when I turned in my mission report, but as you already heard, I had to take a bit of a detour.” He explained with a disingenuous smile. “I was just about to head over there if you wanted to walk with me.”

Kakashi’s eye darted to his face and back to the book before returning to his face. “Not necessary, sensei. The book is mine.”

Iruka wasn’t sure how he managed the stern expression he favored Kakashi with. “More of your abysmal taste in literature, Hatake-san? You really shouldn’t leave it lying about where some innocent could get hold of it.”

Kakashi blinked and moved the single step necessary to pluck the book from Iruka’s nerveless fingers. “Now, now, nothing so dire as that, Iruka-sensei. Merely an old journal of mine.”

Iruka wet his lips and cracked a smile. “Ah, so I might have discovered your secrets, eh, Hatake-san?”

Kakashi regarded him with a hooded gaze. “Maybe.”

There was something odd about his tone but Iruka couldn’t quite place it. Fighting the urge to fidget under Kakashi’s intent stare, Iruka glanced away. “Well, I’m pleased I could get it back to you, but I have things to do. So unless you plan on accompanying me to the—”

Just that suddenly, Kakashi was in front of him, mask lowered. He blocked Iruka’s instinctive kunai strike with the metal plate on his glove and pressed Iruka back against the wall of the living room. “Enough games, sensei,” he rumbled darkly. “I know you read it.”

His mouth crashed down on Iruka’s in a devouring kiss, filling Iruka’s senses with nothing but the taste and touch of the man in front of him.

Suddenly a whole lot of things about the story in the worn journal made infinitely more sense to Iruka.

**Author's Note:**

> Reality got the better of me this weekend and I was only just able to finish this one in time. ~looks mournfully at the past day fics she wasn't able to finish in time~


End file.
